


Sailing off into The Sunset

by CiaraK_1996



Category: Bright Young Things, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Good Omens References, Homophobic Language, M/M, Smut, So much smut, vague plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 01:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaraK_1996/pseuds/CiaraK_1996
Summary: Following the Second World War, Ginger Littlejohn finds himself running to America, leaving behind his wife and child. However, along the way, he meets a beautiful stranger that may just change the way he sees the world.





	Sailing off into The Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> For those who do not know, Bright Young Things is a 2003 film where Miles Maitland is portrayed by Michael Sheen and Ginger Littlejohn is played by David Tennant. Although in the film they never meet I dreamt up this little sequel following their plot endings in the film … and yes, I did do so with Good Omens in mind.  
> I do hope you enjoy!  
> (I apologise for the French; I cannot speak French at all really, so I used Google translate)

He was not a happily married man. He thought this was because his wife did not love him, but slowly it was dawning on him that he did not love her either. He had rushed into the marriage, partially because she was engaged to another man and partially because she knew him.

Ginger watched his son play a wooden car on the floor of their apartment and wondered if the boy was his. He and Nina had consummated their marriage, though neither enjoyed it much, Nina seemed suspiciously resigned to the idea sex was not enjoyable, but Ginger had some expectations that died. The boy looked like Nina; blue eyes and blonde hair that was quickly becoming brown. _He could be his_ , Ginger thought bitterly, _though he could be anyone’s child with that logic_. He knew the sorts of parties Nina used to attend, the papers called them orgies and sexual circuses, he had even met a few of the flamboyant individuals who instigated such gatherings, though of course Ginger was rarely ever invited. He was not one to believe everything he read in the papers, but there was doubt.

He looked out of the window to see the sun setting once again on London. _Nina should be home soon_ , he thought dully about where the bombs would fall tonight as he watched the smoke from the unquenched fires drift into the darkening sky. He rose to his feet and placed their dinner in the oven. This was not the life he expected. Well, no one expected another War, after all, the last big war had been dubbed ‘The War to End All Wars’. Then again, the papers had said the Titanic was unsinkable. What he had not expected was that he would play the role of a mother. Nina went out to the factory and worked, and he stayed home watching Tommy, cooking dinner, failing to keep the apartment tidy, and selling illicit and restricted goods for extortionate prices just to cover the bills. It was safer this way, men who were deemed unfit to fight were ridiculed and attacked; any young man working as a young man not fighting, and if you were not fighting were you really a man? Ginger did not want to fight, he was not a fighting man, but dying on a battlefield was a kinder option than being called a weak coward because of the state of your lungs and the shape of your feet.

Ginger leaned against the doorframe and looked at the boy who was at least officially his son, “Are you a fighter like your real father?”

The boy who was not yet two years old stared at him blankly.

“I didn’t even fight for your mother,” Ginger muttered in dismay, “I paid for her … and not a lot either. Your godfather needed the money, and seventy-eight pounds sixteen shillings and tuppence was not a huge amount. I paid a deposit on a house, which you won’t remember, it was blown to hell six months ago.” Ginger was rambling to himself, he looked at the boy, “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It was his idea. I just … bartered a little. He asked for a hundred, but …” Ginger groaned, at the time he thought it was cheap too, though paying for the house and a wedding, not even knowing a child would come so quickly, he couldn’t agree to that much. He was ashamed of bartering the price, and now he was so miserable he was regretting it, not that seventy-eight pounds, sixteen shillings, and tuppence was worth much these days. He wondered if Adam regretted it too if they would be happier in each other’s shoes; Adam at home with his son and Ginger getting shot at on the battlefield, dying in bloody agony in the mud.

A little over three years later, there was a knock at the door. Ginger wondered if it was the police, they had frozen his accounts and they were watching him, waiting for the last few pieces of evidence to fall into place before arresting him and swiftly sending him to prison. At the door was a soldier, _I don’t recall stealing from the army,_ he thought dully.

“Hello?” Ginger said apathetically.

The soldier turned around, Adam Fenwick-Symes smiled, “Hello Ginger, may I come in?”

An hour later Ginger was leaving with a suitcase of money and fleeing. He hated leaving, the bitter guilt gnawed at his heart and stomach, but he did not want to go to prison and Nina might be happier with Adam, and Tommy deserved his real father. He found himself in a train station, he was not entirely sure which one, he was staring at the departures board.

_Where to go?_ He thought to himself, _Brighton’s out, Edinburgh, Cardiff, Newcastle, even Manchester; the police will find me._

Dover.

He bought his ticket and boarded a train, before long he was safely on a boat taking him across the Channel to France, perhaps there he could find a ship to America.

*** * ***

“ _Chérie, je dois vraiment y aller_ ,” Miles whined, he did not want to leave, and Catherine was holding him so tightly it physically pained him to let her go.

“Don’t go,” She said in her sumptuous accent, she did not often speak English and the sound of his own language brought an unburdened smile to his face, she squeezed him tighter before finally releasing him, “We will miss you terribly. Don’t leave for America.”

“I must, darling,” Miles pleaded, he looked at the others, how few of them were left, “I fear I am no longer safe here.”

“ _Nous t'aimons_ ,” Jean smiled, but there were tears in his light blue eyes. Jean had been so bitterly depressed when Miles met him, now he was truly happy, with an arm around the man that he loved. Miles was always so happy to see Jean and Leonard together, he felt like a Cherub.

Leonard was fighting back tears as well, “ _Vous êtes notre héros, Miles. Ne nous oublie jamais_.”

“Aw!” Miles embraced them, “I could never forget you, my darlings. But it is _you_ who are _my_ heroes. You saved me first.”

The horn from the ship behind them let out an almighty noise which startled everyone, suddenly they rushed, each wanting to embrace Miles one last time.

“ _Je t'aime_! I love you! _Je t'aime_!” Miles called as he struggled with his case onto the boat, “I promise I’ll write!”

Everyone was crying; Catherin, Jean, Antoinette, Leonard, Henri, Jacques, Peter, and Miles most of all. He stayed on the deck to wave at them, hoping he didn’t have to leave. It was a better farewell than the last time he had to escape a country, he found himself then thinking of poor Aggie, and Adam, Archie, Vanburgh, and Nina. He wondered what had happened to them if they were still alive if they were happy.

He was gladly interrupted from his thoughts when a young gentleman tapped his shoulder, “ _Excusez-moi_ … _parlez-vous_ …”

“ _Anglais? Oui_ ,” Miles smiled, wiping away his tears and flashing a bright smile at the stranger, “How may I help you?”

The gentleman was tall and rather thin, a cigarette dangling from his lips, “Do you have a light?”

Miles’ smile broadened, “Of course,”

He lit the gentleman’s cigarette and then the man offered him one, which he accepted and lit. They were not of the finest quality, but it would do.

“I’m terribly sorry, Ginger Littlejohn,” The gentleman said with a smile.

Miles took his hand firmly, “Miles Maitland.”

Ginger appeared to frown slightly, rubbing the strawberry birthmark on his top lip where a moustache was starting to grow, “The name seems familiar. You don’t by any chance know Nina Blount, do you?”

Miles was grinning now, “My, what a small world this is. How is Nina these days?”

“Happy,” Ginger allowed, his tone betraying his uncertainty and loss, “Adam’s, Adam Symes, he’s back from the war. All heroic and what-not.”

Miles contemplated this, “I take it she’s taken him back then?”

“More like I sold her to him,” Ginger grumble, Miles’ face was positively scandalising, “I paid Adam near eighty pounds to stay away from Nina back in 1939. He could not afford his hotel bill, let alone marry. He turned up last week at my house with a suitcase of money and offered it to me … he stays with Nina and Tommy, and I leave … run away from the warrant for my arrest.”

Miles was aghast, he thought for a few moments, puffing on the cheap cigarette wishing it tasted better, “Who’s Tommy?”

Ginger looked a little surprised, “Legally he’s my son. I think he has Adam’s blood though.”

Miles nodded curtly and looked out to the waves, “What do the police want you for?”

“Stealing and ration breaches mostly,” Ginger shifted uncomfortably, leaning heavily on the railing, “I procured items, luxuries, and sold them to keep my family warm and fed. Now I have no family at all, a warrant for my arrest, and thirty thousand pounds.”

Miles saw the regret in his eyes as he said the last few words, “ _I_ am not a thief, you’ll be glad to hear. And I am also wanted by the police in England. Have no fear, your secrets are perfectly safe with me.”

Ginger looked Miles up and down, which made Miles tingle sinfully, “What do they want you for?”

Miles turned to face the familiar stranger, “Buggery and gross indecency.”

Ginger did not seem to be put off by this statement, Miles had been described as effeminate hundreds of times by both friends and fiends in the past, so the confession usually did not come as a surprise. Usually, though, there was some disdain, some sense of threat as if at any moment Miles might seduce them and have his wicked way. Miles was simply not that sort of man, a flirt for sure, but he always asked permission first.

"How were you found out?" Ginger asked before he could stop himself.

"I trusted the wrong man," Mile fought back tears, "I was not entirely subtle before, but ... he left evidence for the authorities to find."

“Strange the things people deem improper,” Ginger said cautiously, “As if we have nothing better to do with our lives but to follow a script.”

Miles realised he was simply being polite, “I can see their point, to an extent. Buggery is not exactly the natural order, it doesn’t make little babies, but it is _ever_ so good. Some people enjoy sex, others do not, and some enjoy it only with persons of certain _shapes_. We never truly know what we like until we try it.”

Miles looked Ginger up and down; his long legs, his narrow hips, the shape of his spine, the angle of his jaw, the shape of the birthmark, the darkness of his eyes. Miles straightened and threw the butt of his cigarette into the waves, he looked back at the boat nervously, “I suppose I had better find my cabin.”

Ginger seemed to pull himself from his thoughts then, “Yes, I should probably do the same.”

The hefted their cases and went their separate ways. Miles found the door that corresponded with his ticket to find it was a twin room. He groaned, missing the luxuries of the first class. He looked at the two stiff-looking beds and decided to settle on the one to the left as one entered the door. He had collected very few personal belongings in France, after all, there was a war. He removed his book from his case and his snuff-box, before stuffing the leather case beneath his bed. The bed squeaked terribly as he sat down, leaning against the headboard and opening his novelisation of _The Importance of Being Earnest_. He had read maybe a page when a shuffle outside the door stole his attention. The door opened revealing a porter.

“ _Voilà!”_ The porter did not seem impressed, as he indicated into the cabin at an unseen passenger in the corridor.

“ _Merci_ ,” An Englishman said, the porter offered no help to the gentleman as he struggled to get his case through the narrow door, “You?”

Miles smiled, “We meet again. This world is awfully minute.”

Ginger placed his suitcase beside the bed and winced at the metal springs screeched as he sat down, “At least I’m not with a Frenchman, I am rather terrible with French.”

Miles’ eyes fluttered between the book and the man, “I did notice. Is it a lack of skill or a lack of practice?”

Ginger leaned back against the cold white wall, “A bit of both I suppose. I haven’t needed French since school, and I recall being quite terrible at Latin as well.”

“I used to vacation in Paris quite frequently,” Miles confessed, “Such a romantic city and the food is to _die_ for!”

“Were you living in Paris during the War?” Ginger asked.

“Not so much,” Miles replied, setting the book aside and gazing at the man before him, “I was a spy of sorts.”

Ginger raised a brow, his lips slightly upturned, “You do intrigue me. Doing what, may I ask?”

Miles waved a hand dismissively, “Oh, it’s a ghastly secret! Though I suppose it would not hurt to tell a few truths. I … um … tricked Nazis. Trapped them like moths in a glass.”

“To do what?” Ginger was engrossed, staring at him intently.

“We were gathering information,” Miles allowed, “About a certain prison. We wished to free the prisoners there.”

“And did you?”

“Eventually,” Miles allowed with a coy smile, “It was difficult, working in the shadows. It took longer than we had hoped.”

Ginger nodded, “A valiant cause. Those places were horrific from what I have heard.”

“Did you fight?”

Ginger swallowed his shame and shook his head, unable to meet his eyes.

Miles offered a small, sad smile that Ginger did not see, “I probably would not have fought either. Given my ... perversions.”

“Asthma,” Ginger muttered.

“And the baby,” Miles offered, “Someone had to work, and someone had to look after … Tommy, was it?”

Ginger nodded, he did not want to think of them right now, “What were you reading?”

“Oh,” Miles smiled bashfully, “Just some Oscar Wilde. I’ve read it a hundred times before and seen it performed many a time. It’s an old favourite I can never quite put down.”

Miles rambled on extensively about the play and previous productions he had watched, who he had gone with and what was so fascinating about each performance. Then the subject changed to plays in general, and back to books. Before long there was a bell ringing which startled them from their discussion.

“Oh, is that the time?” Miles stammered, checking his pocket watch, then looking at the window into the black night, “Goodness!”

Ginger was still rather startled, then looked down at his clothes, “Not really dress for dinner, are we?”

Miles stood and contained a shudder, “We could change quickly … I promise not to look.”

Dutifully he turned his back, retrieved his case, pulled out a dinner suit, and began shedding his travel clothes. Ginger stared for a little longer than necessary before doing the same. The third-class dining hall was cramped with four long tables stretching along the length of the room, it was dimly lit and there was no privacy. Ginger sat opposite Miles who had placed himself beside an old woman with a devious glint in her eyes. Food in third class did not compare to that in first, no choice for a start and today was apparently well-done beef, but the beef was still marginally better than the rations in England and the scraps Miles had been living off in France. The smell of buttered potatoes alone was enough to make any man hungry.

“You know,” Miles said slowly, “I can’t recall the last time I had butter.”

Ginger looked up from his meal, “Nor I, we used our ration in baking rather than for flavour. Not that our cakes were any good. The carrots taste a little odd.”

“Tinned,” Miles explained, with a disgusted expression, “Haven’t had fresh carrots in a year.”

“ _Au moins les pommes de terre sont fraîches_.” Muttered the old woman beside Miles.

“What did she say?” Ginger whispered.

“At least the potatoes are fresh,” Miles translated instantly, “Though I do suspect they were a little green.”

“Welcome to third class gents,” A young man said in a thick cockney accent, falling heavily beside Ginger, “Not wha’ you snobs are used to I ‘spect.”

“Better that the muck we stole from the Nazis,” Miles retorted with a cheeky smile.

“Who did you fight for?” The cockney said, lacking any grace or signs of intelligence.

“The Allies, of course,” Miles said sceptically, “Though in the French resistance, rather than British Army.”

“Were the French the only ones accep’ing pansies?” The cockney laughed, no one else seemed very amused.

Ginger was watching Miles carefully and was surprised to see him calm with the hints of a smile, “Well, I happened to be living in France when war broke. I saw little sense in fighting my way back to England only to be deployed back in France. So, I joined the French and did my bit for the war effort there.”

The cockney seemed dumbfounded at that for a moment, not that he seemed hard to confuse, “What ‘bout you?”

Ginger turned to face the annoyance, “British,” He looked to Miles for some reassurance, “Obviously.”

“Why you going to America with this faggot?”

Ginger stiffened, “I’m not _with_ him, we were simply talking over a meal.”

He looked back at Miles who seemed to find no offence in his words, he leaned to the man behind him and said not too quietly, “ _Cet idiot pense que tous les Français sont des homosexuels._ ”

“Wha’ he just say?” The cockney yelled at Miles who simply smiled back at him as the tall, gruff man behind him stood with rabid rage in his eyes.

“ _Quel idiot?”_ The man said, and the old lady beside Miles pointed at the cockney. The annoying Londoner realised the danger and scarpered before he was harmed. The man placed a hand on Miles’ shoulder, “ _De rien_.”

“Thank you,” Miles returned to his food as did the gentleman behind him, he looked up to find Ginger staring at him, “I told him that he thought _all_ Frenchmen were pansies. A _very_ dangerous statement on a French ship, don’t you think?”

Ginger smirked at him and ate the rest of his meal. They talked half the night away before finally returning to their cabin. Ginger tried to teach him a magic trick involving four coins, but Miles simply stretched his fingers in excitement and overwhelmed him in tricks and illusions; clearly, magic tricks were a passion of his. Miles retreated into a dark corner to change, his back facing Ginger as he did the same. Ginger settled into his bed and switched off the light. It was strange how you met some chaps and it would take absolutely years to know, but a chap like Miles, one could feel is a pal straight away.

*** * ***

Nearly two weeks later they were on the deck looking at the New York skyline in the early morning light.

“So where will you go?” Ginger asked quietly.

Miles playfully contemplated this for a moment, “I hear there is a very good hotel south of Central Park.”

“You can afford that?” Ginger enquired in surprise.

“Well, we did steal an _awful_ lot from those _pesky_ Germans,” Miles teased, leaning against the railing, stretching like a cat, “The Ritz-Carlton Hotel, I’ve already made a reservation. Perhaps you’ll visit? I do so love our charming conversations. I’ll be using the name Monsieur Michael Laurent.”

Ginger smiled, “Perhaps.” Knowing all too well he made a similar reservation at the same hotel, “I’m using the name George Johnson, not very imaginative, but enough to remember.”

“Well I have been doing this a lot longer than you,” Miles teased.

Leaving the ship, they separated and walked through customs; Ginger put on an accent to match his falsified papers stating he was returning from a business trip in England, Miles was posing as a French tourist. Miles caught one last glimpse of Ginger stepping into a yellow taxi and decided to do the same.

Ginger clambered out of the taxi, having detoured for a spot of lunch, only to find Miles leaving The Ritz in a new suit and a spring in his step to explore the city. Ginger contemplated catching his attention for a moment and decided against it. He checked in alone and took his own cases up to his rooms.

*** * ***

Weeks passed and Ginger found himself narrowly missing Miles by mere moments. In the end, he asked at the front desk for Monsieur Laurent only to be told he had a room a few doors down from his own. However, he decided against knocking on his door at the last possible moment and retreated to his own rooms.

New York City had a lively nightlife, following the prohibition and then the Second World War it was only to be expected. Before the war Ginger preferred private social clubs to raucous parties, preferring the gentlemanly discussions and casual drinks to chaos and dramatic flair, but he found himself needing to be drunk and surrounded by noise. He stumbled through the streets until he saw a certain flamboyant gentleman laughing and drinking with some equally drunk and intoxicated new friends. He followed them into a discreet club, once inside he found Miles was already dancing wildly with some dazzling characters. Ginger was being served at the bar before he noticed what was so different; nearly everyone inside were men, the few women visible were caressing other women. He found himself a chair in the corner, drinking solidly. His gaze constantly falling on the man from the voyage from France, dancing voluptuously with other men on the dancefloor.

“I need some air, dear!” He heard him call and left. Ginger tried to talk himself out of following him and failed spectacularly.

Outside the air was cool and suddenly the alcohol seemed to go straight to his head. He steadied himself and looked around; Miles was nowhere in sight. _Damn_ , Ginger thought to himself and started heading toward the hotel when he heard that familiar queer voice.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Ginger stopped and walked back to an alleyway he had just passed. Miles was being circled by two very unsavoury looking men making Ginger’s hair stand on end.

“Thought you said you was French?” One of the men sneered.

“One can learn other languages,” Miles retorted bitterly, adding a little hint of an accent to his voice to not sound quite do English, “Unlike some, I actually _use_ the organ inside my skull.”

“You saying we’s dense?” The other thug spat.

Ginger saw Miles roll his eyes, fluttering his eyelashes, “If I were implying you were dense, do you not think you would be too dense to notice the implication?”

The two men seemed to take a while to think about that and Miles remained relatively calm and smug. At least until one of them pulled out a knife, “Go to hell you faggot!”

Ginger stepped out of the shadows, “Not very sporting of you lads!”

“Who the hell are you?” The thug with the knife growled.

“A distant memory,” Ginger offered, then pulled a gun from his coat pocket, “Or the last face you see. Your choice.”

The Americans glanced at each other and ran for the other end of the alleyway.

Miles smiled, looking at Ginger through those long lashes, “Why thank you, sir.”

“Shut up,” Ginger retorted, “That was terrifying. Especially because this thing isn’t even loaded.”

Miles moved towards him, “It’s the thought that counts. Why do have an unloaded gun in your pocket?”

“Only bought it this morning, I did not think I would have a need to use it so soon,” Ginger shrugged, “Walk you home?”

Miles smiled brightly and fell in beside him, “Well, thank you. You are certainly not boring.”

“I do try to impress,” Ginger offered coyly.

“Well how about I buy you lunch?” Miles offered, “The Ritz-Carlton lobby, eleven o’clock?”

Ginger smiled, “Sounds wonderful.”

He stayed a few moments outside and then walked into the hotel, he did not want to appear to be some deranged stalker, though he knew Miles would find out that he was staying in the same hotel eventually.

The following morning, Ginger waited in the lobby, he looked up from the morning paper to find Miles beaming at him brightly. He was dressed in a sharp blue suit with a snazzy tie at his throat, his dark curls clutching his face like a blusher veil, and his deep pink lips smiling sinfully.

“Shall we go?”

They dined at a fine restaurant, overlooking the city skyline. Miles ordered a starter of oysters for them to share, they were not something Ginger had ever wanted to try before, but he found them oddly pleasant.

After dinner the went for a stroll in the park, talking about everything and anything. They walked around the city, taking in its sights and experiences before finally ending up back at their hotel as the sun was setting over the city.

“May I tempt you in for a drink?” Miles asked enticingly.

“How could I refuse?” Ginger smiled, following him to the bar.

*** * ***

Ginger stood looking at the contents of his wardrobe. For some reason, he had invited Miles to see a production on Broadway and had spent the night wondering what had been going through his mind. Pretty eyes and a lot of alcohol seemed to be the answer. He was trying on suit after suit hoping to find something decent when there was a knock at the door, cautiously Ginger opened it only to find two police officers.

“Yes?” Ginger asked as calmly as possible.

“We’re looking for a fugitive,” The fat one explained, “He is believed to be residing in this hotel.”

The skinnier officer, who was also much younger pulled out a photograph and held it out for Ginger to inspect. He took the photo and looked at it closely and then shrugged, handing the photograph back, “It’s possible I’ve seen him around, there are so many people in this hotel. What has he done?”

“Not to worry, sir,” The fat officer dismissed, “Thank you for your time.”

Ginger smiled courteously and shut the door before rushing to the phone, “Operator? Room 3-1-8 please.”

The phone took a painfully long time to go through.

“Don’t answer the door!” He hissed, as soon as the receiver was picked up the other end of the line.

Miles froze, he recognised Ginger’s voice and the desperate urgency. He was about to whisper a simple _‘why?’_ when there was a knock at his hotel door. He clutched the receiver close to his mouth and slid behind the couch as if that would keep him safe. Ginger listened to the sound of his breathing, fear welling in his chest. Miles stayed there for some time until the footsteps receded down the hallway.

“What?” He whispered, barely controlling his heart which threatened to break his ribs.

“I’ll whistle.”

“ _What_?” Miles asked with a little more urgency, but the line was dead. A minute later there was another knock at the door accompanied by a simple whistled melody. Miles stiffly rose to his feet and reluctantly dropped the telephone receiver when the cable tightened, “H-hello?”

“Open up,” It was Ginger, and Miles unlocked the door instantly, moving quickly as the tall gentleman barged into the hotel suite, “Get your things.”

“Why? Who was at the door?” Miles protested.

Ginger stopped, “Police, they think you’ve done something. They didn’t say what.”

“Where will I go?” Miles muttered, fiddling with his manicured nails, watching nervously as Ginger emptied his wardrobes and shoved his clothes into his suitcase. Ginger gave no reply, simply moving to shove Miles’ books unceremoniously into a bag.

Once everything he could see was packed, he turned to Miles who was staring at him, silently disorientated, “Come on.”

Miles followed reluctantly and was startled when Ginger stopped to unlock the door to 3-0-3. Ginger hurried Miles inside and locked the door behind them. The room was very much like his own, though the décor was slightly different.

“What is going on, Ginger?” Miles stammered, suddenly remembering how to breathe and that he had a voice box.

“I told you,” He stammered, not sure himself, setting the bags he was holding on the floor, “Police.”

“You said they were looking for me?”

“They had a photograph,” Ginger explained, putting on a record to mask their voices, “They did not tell me why.”

Miles fiddled nervously, Ginger almost smiled, Miles had always been so confident it was almost comical to see him timid. Though it was not a pleasant sight given the circumstances.

“I guess I should say thank you,” Miles offered a coy smile, his natural flamboyance fighting through his fear, “My knight in shining armour.”

Miles consumed him with his eyes, fluttering over his body, it was then that Ginger remembered he had been starting to undress when the police arrived. He was decent, though a little tardy; his tie hung loosely around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and one of his braces had slipped off his shoulder.

“So, what did you do?” Ginger asked, basking in Miles’ attention.

Miles raised his hands defensively, with a mischievous grin, “Nothing, dear, I swear. Well, unless it’s about that tearoom on 3rd Avenue…”

“I don’t think it’s about that,” Ginger muttered, striding to the bar to pour two whiskeys.

“Perhaps it what I did in France,” Miles accepted the drink and conflicted with himself, he looked up at Ginger with a gentle sadness, “Myself and a few of the girls would … lure the soldiers. We would appear to aid them, even seduce them. We, we were not always as careful as we should have been.”

“They thought you were a Nazi,” Ginger whispered, realising sexuality was not the issue here, “Or at least a sympathiser.”

“Angelique, was murdered … by _allies_ , due to that misunderstanding,” Miles gulped down the whiskey, fighting back tears, “We were scared of the Nazis, so we hid the trap but not the lure … if-if someone has _proof_ they’ll think I-”

Ginger pulled him into his arms and embraced him warmly, swaying gently to the sound of the music playing. Miles almost relaxed and then gently pulled away, “What are you doing?”

Ginger stared at him, trying to find the answer in his own mind, “Something reckless.”

He cupped Miles’ face and kissed him. Heat bubbled through his veins, and pressure crushed his heart with such severity he thought it might burst. Miles’ hands rested on his hips and pulled him close, his tongue tasting his lips, Ginger moaned involuntarily and opened his mouth to him. As the kiss deepened control passed over to Miles, obviously more versed in the activity. Miles kissed him so hard he felt like he would be bruised, and then as suddenly as it began, they slowed, twisting their passion into sweet, slow bliss, tasting the delicate honey on each other’s lips. Ginger opened his eyes to find Miles staring up at him with wide blue eyes and flushed cheeks. He could not recall when he had pushed Miles’ up against the wall or when his own shirt had been ripped open. The sight surprised him, and he hesitated.

The hesitation was misinterpreted in a heartbeat and Miles looked away, embarrassed, “Sorry about that … I uh, got carried away.”

Ginger leaned down, placing kisses along Miles’ exposed neck. He enjoyed kissing Nina’s neck, but she never made such exquisite gasps and sinful moans. She had never clung to him, never tried to rip his clothes off or dig delightfully into his flesh. Nina had never _wanted_ him.

Ginger rolled his hips wanting more friction, but the few inches difference in height seemed problematic. Without discussion or hesitation, Ginger grabbed Miles beneath the buttocks and lifted him, holding him against the wall, while Miles tightened his grip around his shoulders and wrapped his legs atop his slender hips. Ginger bit Miles’ neck lightly as he rolled his hips again, his erection sliding from his anus, along his perineum and pressing against his scrotum. Miles groaned with such delightful ecstasy that Ginger just had to do it again, firmly. Miles’ nails were clawing at his back, his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the wall, as Ginger rutted against him. His lips were parted, freely releasing sounds of pure pleasure, Ginger consumed him, delving into his mouth with his tongue, swallowing every moan and gasp. He snaked his arms around his waist and tightened enough to no longer need the wall for support. He carried Miles into the spacious bedroom and placed him carefully on the bed, never breaking their kiss.

Miles pulled away, his eyes almost black with lust and his face reddened with passion, “Are you sure?”

Ginger was no longer thinking of anything anymore, only that his clothes were decidedly in the way and had to be removed now. He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes, “Just take off your clothes, angel.”

Miles did not need to be told twice, he pulled off his shirt, pulling a few buttons off in his hast and then reached for Ginger’s crotch, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down. Miles placed open-mouthed kisses on the tight skin of Ginger's stomach and moved down, Ginger’s slender fingers tangled and tugged in his hair as he remover his underwear revealing a deliciously ready cock. Miles placed a gentle kiss at the root of it, causing Ginger’s legs to almost fail him and his grasp tighten. Miles looked up at him and watched as he planted delicate kisses along his shaft. Ginger stared intently, breathing heavily through parted lips as he watched the man kiss him and take the head of his penis into his mouth.

“Oh, good god!” Ginger cried out as Miles hollowed his cheeks around him, his tongue flicking along the slit.

Miles removed his mouth placing more light kisses and palming Ginger’s scrotum, “Now, darling, try not to move. You’ll likely choke me.”

He did not wait for a reply before swallowing as much of Ginger as he could, hollowing his cheeks as he pulled away only to take more of him with the next push. He could feel Ginger’s legs shaking with the effort of standing. His balls firmed beneath his hand before Miles let him go.

“Come here, darling,” He called softly, Ginger opened his eyes and followed him onto the bed, chasing his moist and swollen lips, “How do you want to do this?”

Ginger kissed him lazily, touching every bit of skin he could reach, “I don’t know.”

Miles giggled, and squirmed out from beneath him, “I’ll be back in a moment, dear.”

Ginger fell back against the plump pillows, utterly exposed and uncaring, catching his breath. Miles returned moments later with a small glass bottle and leapt onto the bed beside him, claiming his mouth.

“We don’t have to go any further tonight,” He whispered against Ginger’s lips, smiling at the strange feeling of Ginger’s moustache.

“I need you, angel,” Ginger groaned, “Please.”

Miles smiled alluringly, “Spread your legs.”

Ginger did so instantly, gripping the sheets in anticipation as Miles opened the bottle.

“I’m afraid this will be a little cold,” Miles breathed sensuously as he poured a small amount of the bottle’s contents onto his stomach. Ginger gasped at the sensation of the cold liquid trickling down his body towards his throbbing erection. It was oil, he realised, olive by the smell and Miles was wetting his body with it. The cold oil against this burning cock was sensational, Miles nimble hands touching him just right to keep his passion burning. Miles kissed his neck and collarbone, sucking lightly to leave delicate marks on Ginger’s pale flesh. He nipped at his nipple as he rubbed oil over their erections, causing Ginger to gasp delightfully. Miles returned to Ginger’s lips and kissed him, pushing his finger inside him. Ginger gasped and his legs tightened around Miles, holding him close, his fingers digging into his soft flesh. Miles smiled against him and slowly pumped his finger inside him, working him lose before adding another. Ginger was unravelling beneath him, clutching at him blindly as he accustomed to the new sensations. Miles curled his fingers against the _oh-so-precious_ point within him, igniting a new level of pleasure.

“Ah!” Ginger cried out, his back arching against the bed, “Yes!”

Miles kissed his jaw, adding a third finger against the same point. The reaction was delightful, panting and groaning for more, becoming utterly undone. With his spare hand, he forced open the bottle of oil and splashed a generous amount over them, letting it trickle down Ginger’s body around his penis and balls and down to the fingers thrusting into his anus. Once he was desirable moist, Miles removed his fingers, wetting his own penis and readjusted himself, “Are you ready, darling?”

Ginger opened his eyes, the dark pools of chocolate brown were near black with desire, “Absolutely, angel.”

Miles gave him a small kiss before guiding himself to Ginger’s arse. He was so tight it almost hurt, but the pleasure was overwhelming. Ginger screamed out and Miles’ heart froze, but the Ginger was smiling and tightening his grip rather than pushing away. Miles was mesmerised and pushed a little further inside. Ginger’s legs were knotted about Miles’ arse, gently urging him closer, his left arm clasped firmly around Miles’ waist, his right hand pulling on Miles’ neck, drawing him into a desperate kiss. Miles pushed further inside, gripping the headboard to steady himself. His heart was pounding in his ears, but over the din, he heard a voice. He opened his eyes and Ginger was talking to him.

“Miles,” He whispered, his skin covered in oil and sweat, “Move … please.”

He squeezed his legs around Miles’ trembling frame to affirm his meaning. Miles grinned like a fool and obliged, bathing in Ginger’s moans as he almost left his body. He watched intently as he thrust back inside.

Ginger’s head fell back against the pillows and he screamed in ecstasy, “More!”

Miles obliged willingly, fucking him passionately. Ginger was clawing at him delightfully, holding him close. Miles shuddered, trying to last as long as possible to make the moment last. He was so blissfully close. His thrusts becoming desperate and erratic as he fucked his lover. Ginger had given up on language and was crying out for more. Ginger opened his eyes and pulled Miles down atop of him kissing him deeply and desperately. Miles grinned as he felt Ginger clench around him as his pleasure crashing over him. Screaming to the heavens. Miles fucked him through his ecstasy until he too was releasing himself inside him.

Miles crashed on top of him, breathing him in as his throbbing pleasure subsided. He could feel Ginger’s limbs loosen around him, holding him weakly.

“That was…” Ginger began, his voice coarse and tired, “Unbelievable.”

Miles hummed against him, “I do hope your neighbours don’t complain about the noise.”

Ginger paled, “Oh, good _God!_ Was I _that_ loud?”

Miles nodded, laughing and laying kisses wherever he could reach, “They’ll assume you’re with a woman.”

“I’ll never be with a woman again,” Ginger confessed, “Only you … if you’ll have me.”

“Darling,” Miles whispered, “I think that’s a splendid idea!”

They lay there, breathing each other in, listening to the end of the record Ginger put on, which felt like a lifetime ago; _“There were angels dining at the Ritz, and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this was quite rushed and terrible. I've only seen the film once (last night) and not had an opportunity to procure the book.


End file.
